Better Late Than Never
by sixturns
Summary: AU where James and Lily live to see November 1st, 1981.


**Hi everyone! I was doing a reread of this story the other day because I was gearing up to write a new chapter when I realized that I actually didn't like where this story was going. There were a few things that I felt were poorly written or didn't make much sense, even though at the time they did. The best example of this would be Sirius immediately assuming Peter was the one who had betrayed them, even though he had very little evidence to go by. So essentially, I've taken all the chapters down and I'm going to be rewriting them in a way I feel is more fitting to the story I want to tell. I hope you enjoy it!**

James Potter woke up on November 1st, 1981 with the distinct feeling that he was supposed to be dead. It was a strange feeling and he couldn't fathom why he was feeling it.

Miraculously, he was not, and he couldn't remember why.

There was a crick in his neck—it seemed that he had fallen at an odd angle at the top landing of his staircase—and there would no doubt be bruises populating his back (or perhaps his entire body) and starting a small community. His glasses were on the floor beside him, one lens cracked. He put them on and had to squint a bit before his vision focused enough to ease the pounding in his head. His wand lay a few feet away, a chunk of wood on the handle chipped off. James reached over and grabbed it.

Slowly, he gripped a section of the banister that had not been torn off and raised himself to his full height. Splinters embedded themselves into his palm, but there was too much going on for him to care much about that.

It was then that he registered the overwhelmingly acrid smell of something burning. Belatedly, he realized that it was his _house._ Smoke hung low in the hall, choking and opaque, obscuring James' vision beyond a few feet. His eyes watered and burned.

With renewed vigor, James scrambled down the hall and to the source of the smell, his thoughts jumbled. Why was his house on fire? Why did he pass out on the staircase? _Why was he consumed with the feeling that he was overlooking something earth-shatteringly important?_

The smoke was coming from the nursery, that much he could tell-

In a rush of clarity, James _remembered._

He remembered playing with his son, Harry, watching the wonder on his face as he conjured up wisps of colored smoke from the tip of his wand. He remembered the fear, all consuming and terrible as his front door was blasted open, and Voldemort loomed in front of him, wand raised and thirsty for death.

James remembered the scrape of words against his vocal cords as he thrust Harry to Lily and begged, _pleaded _for her to run and that'd he catch up later, knowing very well that his wand was discarded somewhere else and he would very likely die.

_"Lily! Take Harry and run! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

It didn't matter much to him, as long as Lily and Harry made it out alive. James was certain, in that moment he stared down the wand that would deliver him to death, that he did not want to live in a world without his wife and son. It was that certainty that squared his shoulders and lifted his chin to face the killing blow.

James remembered the green flash of light, the menacing utterance of a terrible phrase, and then darkness. James _remembered_ death, greeted it like an old friend who was slightly annoyed that he had shown up a bit early to the party.

And then he remembered waking up.

Snapped out of his reverie, panic gripped his heart and threatened to pull it right out of his chest. Lily and Harry, did they get away? Did they make it? Are they alive oh God oh God please let them- please let them be alive—

Just before he reached what was left of the door at the end of the hall, his foot hit something. He stopped immediately in his tracks and looked down to find—

James' entire mind went blank. Empty. He did not know what he was feeling because he was unsure if there was anything to feel.

Laying the bay of a shattered window, amidst a sea of broken glass and charred wood, was Lily. Her hair was spread around her head like a bloody halo, and the front of her shirt bore a massive burn mark from spell impact. He had a matching one.

Numbly, James fell forward, his knees digging into the glass but he didn't care, because he had to see if she was alive, she could not be dead she could not be dead _Lily could not be dead_ _Merlin please don't let her be dead._

Fear and despair had replaced his blood, and James pressed two desperate fingers to Lily's neck. At the same time, he abandoned his wand and pressed an ear to her chest, desperately searching, hoping—

There it was. The faintest, most beautiful sound he had ever heard. The most precious thing he had ever felt.

Lily's pulse.

Hope reignited violently within him, and he cupped Lily's face, smearing away the soot that had gathered over her freckles from the explosion.

"Lily," James whispered, frantic and wild. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, cheeks, and lips. "Lily, love, wake up. Stay with me, Lily. You didn't put up with me for seven years—bloody hell, we have a child! —just to leave now." A shaky, despairing laugh left his mouth. Tears poured down his face and clogged his throat, threatening to choke him if the grief didn't do it first. "Lily, I love you. Please, Lily, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you and Harry like I said I would. I'll make it all up to you, I promise. Just come back. Lily, please just come back."

As if there were someone up in the great beyond granting all his wishes, Lily's eyes fluttered. Her pulse spiked, and a few groans left her lips.

"…James?" Lily said weakly, and it was all James could do not to pick her up right then and there and spin her around the room. In fact, it was the idea that she quite possibly had a major concussion and survived a near death experience that kept him from doing it.

"Lily?" He whispered, not daring to speak any louder. He knew that if he were to look at himself right then, he'd look like more of a mess than usual, and wanted to brace himself for the shock that would inevitably belong to Lily once she opened her eyes.

Her eyes opened then, a vibrant shock of green that had completely enraptured James since their fifth year at Hogwarts, and he was so grateful that he was seeing them again, filled with life and fire that could only belong to Lily.

Completely overwhelmed, James pressed his lips to hers, needing to feel her, needing to know that this was real and he wasn't hallucinating. Lily responded with just as much need and desperation.

"Thank Merlin," James rested his forehead against hers, and his voice broke, "Lily, I thought I lost you." Carefully, he helped her up into a sitting position, against a wall that was not impaled with glass shards or still smoking.

Lily wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, afraid that if she let go, he would disappear. "James…I heard you scream. I saw you fall. He-who…" she trailed off, and then started again. "_Voldemort _told me you were dead, that he killed you himself." Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill over.

James frowned and pressed Lily closer to him. Something still wasn't right. Lily had been outside of the nursery and Voldemort was no where to be found—

"Lily," James began suddenly, his voice strained with panic, "we need to find Harry."

Their terror was everything. It was the world. The last year spent in hiding would be worth nothing if they didn't keep their son safe at the end of it. James pulled Lily up and they burst into the nursery, a room he and Lily had anxiously prepared for months, arguing over colors and where to put the crib and—

"_Harry!"_ They cried desperately in unison, bolting to the crib that had somehow managed to remain intact.

The only sign of Harry were the still-warm sheets and the drop of blood where his head had lain.


End file.
